


Close to Your Heart

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Nargothrond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 07:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16214687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Bëor and Finrod arrive in Nargothrond. It's full of Elves.





	Close to Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erlkoenig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlkoenig/gifts).



Nargothrond was full of strange sights to Bëor's eyes. He had only seen elves so far when they were in the midst of travel. They were silent and sudden, often coming up on himself and Finrod so quietly that he started and could not stop himself from jumping, even when faced with Finrod's gentle laughter. 

Yet here in this underground city the roof rang with their voices. They sang and spoke loudly, without care, free from fear and worry. Music played ever, and a cacophony of sound such as he had never heard before greeted him like a wall of joyful welcome. They were overjoyed to have their king back at last, and suddenly Bëor realised that Finrod was in truth a king, and a scion of one of the noblest families of all Elven-kin. 

In the forest and over the plains, Finrod had been tireless and practical, his garments travel-stained, lighting his own campfire in the evenings, hunting and preparing his own food (and often Bëor's too). But here in Nargothrond, Finrod was whisked away after a brief greeting to his people, and Bëor stood, at a loss, staring at the place where he had been. 

"Come, Bëor," a low voice said beside him, and he turned to see an elf-man touching his sleeve, one who might have been assumed to be young, if Bëor had not already realised that looks meant nothing when determining the age of an elf. "I am Edrahil, one of the King's guards. He asked me to guide you to your rooms and wait for you while you refreshed yourself." 

Bëor summoned up his scant knowledge of Elven manners. "Thank you, Edrahil," he said. "Lead on, if you will." 

The rooms which had been prepared for Bëor turned out to be spectacular beyond his imagination. He'd envisioned a small but comfortable space, such as he himself had built for his family the few times they stayed somewhere longer than a year or so. The rooms he was given would have housed all of his own family and more, and consisted of a wide sitting room with a large window of elven-glass looking onto the gardens, a cosy bedroom containing a bed so large that he, his wife, and their five children could have fit in it, a sumptuous bathing room complete with plumbing that he could not make sense of, and a dressing room already full of garments which appeared to have been custom-made to his own measurements. 

After he bathed (Edrahil had to help him with the taps), he stood with a large towel wrapped about his hips in the dressing room while Edrahil flicked hastily through the garments hanging on their rack, choosing finally a pair of brown leggings and a matching green tunic which bore Felagund's device on the chest. As Bëor marvelled over their softness and got himself into them, Edrahil patiently picked out jewellery, consulting him from time to time about his preferences and what piercings he had. ("What? No! Why would anyone pierce THAT?" he heard himself saying at one point, and caught Edrahil's sly grin in answer.) 

There was some fuss over the arrangement of his hair, and then finally he was pronounced ready. Edrahil led him out into the halls, and through the crowds to a large open gallery, where he could hear the soft clink of silverware against dishes and the low hum of conversation. 

Finrod was already there, sitting in a large golden chair, and set Bëor at ease immediately by turning to greet him with a warm smile and giving him the chair on his left side. In the custom of his fathers, to be invited to sit on a prince's left side indicated that you were close to his heart, and it relieved Bëor greatly to know that, in this at least, nothing had changed. 

He got through dinner by focusing on Finrod's merry conversation and the blissfully delicious food. Once he looked up at the hall, and caught sight of what seemed to be hundreds of Elves, all looking at him, but then Finrod drew his attention back to himself, and Bëor did not look out again. 

At the close of the meal, Finrod rose, thanking the cooks and musicians graciously. He said a few words about his long journey, and at one point mentioned Bëor's name, then closed the speech by saying that he was weary from travel and wished to retire, but would be holding court in the morning for any who wished to speak with him. 

As the low hum of conversation reasserted itself, Finrod turned to Bëor, holding out his hand. "Will you retire with me?" 

Bëor took the offered hand. "Yes, my lord," he said, his voice soft. 

Finrod led him back to the king's suite, which to Bëor's surprise turned out to be not far from his own. Once inside and alone with the door firmly closed and locked, Finrod reached for him. Bëor went readily into his arms. 

"This must be all so strange to you," Finrod whispered. 

"Was it that obvious?" Bëor replied, mouth twisted with a little self-recrimination. He was no Elf-king's consort, just a faithful vassal. 

"Beloved," Finrod said, clearly catching the direction of Bëor's thoughts, "look up and see that you are loved." 

As Bëor looked up, Finrod caught his mouth in a kiss that left him reeling. "Never doubt that your place is by my side," he said almost sternly, as Bëor's knees went weak. 

"I never will, my lord," Bëor answered, still looking up at Finrod's fair face, framed by golden hair. "Not as long as you keep me close to your heart." 

"For all the days of your life," Finrod said, the promise springing easily to his lips. He kissed Bëor again. "Come to bed with me?" 

Bëor smiled. "As my lord wishes," he answered.


End file.
